


a matter of perspective

by WingsOfTime



Series: in another time [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fingering, Intersex Character, M/M, Oral Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: Some discoveries are made, by both of them.Fun discoveries.(can be read as a sequel tothe consequences of fashionandholding out for a bright purple hero)





	a matter of perspective

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this on request! now i'm absolutely porned-out - i am sorry

“I said you could have my old sleeping shirts, not steal the clothes off my back because you want to try them on.” Thancred crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

Ikael makes a delighted noise into the collar of the sleeveless shirt he has taken. He inhales deeply, letting the scent fill his lungs.

Thancred raises an eyebrow. “Can I have it back now?” he asks.

The neckline of his undershirt sits low on his chest, most likely to allow him to expose the patch of skin he seems to like to leave bare. Ikael certainly has no complaints; a collarbone view a day can keep the dreary days away, in his opinion.

“Hm?” Ikael says, eyes lingering on the way the pressure of Thancred’s forearm pulls his undershirt taut over his abdomen. “Oh. No, I think I am keeping it on for a bit. I like smelling like you.”

He giggles, idly wondering if he can convince Thancred to let him borrow some of his more recently-used clothing. Nothing _dirty_ , of course—Ikael is not _that_ disgusting—but maybe just a tunic or two for nights when Thancred is away and Ikael needs the comfort.

Ikael only just registers Thancred's odd pause before he is moving, straightening up with a low sigh. “Very well then. At least do not leave it open, alright? You will be cold.”

Ikael is somewhat surprised at how quickly he has given in, but decides to not look a gift chocobo in the mouth. He grins, twisting this way in that in front of the mirror as Thancred fetches another vest.

“Of course I am leaving it open!” Honestly; it is like Thancred does not know Ikael at _all_. “Weather is a trivial thing when fashion comes into play!”

He waggles his tail at his reflection for good measure. The small bell on it jingles quietly.

Thancred raises an eyebrow. “Do not ask for my coat half a bell into our outing, then,” he says as he slips said article of clothing on.

Ikael pouts playfully, although he knows that if he really _does_ get cold, Thancred will most likely fuss and worry and make him wear his coat whether he likes it or not. “Understood,” he replies anyways. He pops out his collar and tilts his head, considering himself. “Hm. Can I wear your choker—?”

“ _No_ ,” Thancred sputters before Ikael can even finish his sentence. He leaves the room abruptly, and Ikael can only shrug bemusedly at his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps Thancred is simply hungry. Ikael will make sure he eats at the café.

~*~

Thancred is definitely acting strangely. He keeps glancing in Ikael’s direction as if he _wants_ to look at him, but changes his mind at the last second and simply lets his gaze… skitter off, as if Ikael is made out of very polished wood and his eye cannot keep its footing. After nearly a bell of this, Ikael is beginning to get just a little bit frustrated.

There is no need to—ah… jump to conclusions. Ikael’s mind _may_ be telling him that Thancred suddenly thinks that either Ikael has grievously offended him or that he is the most hideous creature in all of Eorzea, but that does not necessarily mean it is _true_. Ikael… thinks so, at least. Thancred is the one who has been trying to get him to have a less destructive thought process; it would be ill circumstance indeed if this were the one situation where Ikael’s fears are legitimate.

Perhaps if Ikael gives Thancred something to look _at_ , he will get his attention. Ikael does not know how to act coy around someone who is barely looking at him, but he can certainly try.

“It is actually, uh, a bit hot here, you know?” he says. It is decidedly not; Ikael had even given in and buttoned up his borrowed tunic, but he can attempt to use that to his advantage now. He trails his knuckles down his throat, letting his neck arch just a little. He reaches the first clasp of the tunic and slowly unlatches it.

Thancred's eye darts towards the movement, and stays for a heavy, electrifying second. Then it slides off again, and he hums at Ikael’s chair.

“I do not understand how you have apparently acclimated to cool climates so effectively, considering you grew up in a desert,” he says. “Perhaps you spent overmuch time in Ishgard.”

 _Ishgard! Uh..._ Ikael’s brain scrambles for something suitably titillating to say. “Ishgard… has a lot of elezen in it,” he manages after what is mayhaps a long, awkward pause. “Elezen are… tall.”

He unlatches another clasp.

Thancred raises an eyebrow. “So they are,” he agrees. At least he is making eye contact now, although he is using the tone he usually adopts right before he is about to make fun of him. Ikael decides to persevere regardless.

“Was, uh… hot enough. Inside, you know.” Ikael winks. “Because of… all the… tall… people.”

His words lose more certainty the longer he speaks. The uninspired look Thancred is giving him is… certainly not helping matters.

“I am flattered you feel the need to keep me updated on your height fetish,” Thancred says. “Mayhaps the next time we make love, I shall fetch a ladder.”

Ikael gawps at him for a good second before he cringes, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. He pulls his hands together in his lap, looking down at them.

“Never mind,” he mumbles. He begins to pick at a mostly healed scab on his thumb. “Um… it really is getting a bit chilly—you were right. We can… head back, if you want. I’ll bake muffins or something for a snack instead.”

He tries not to feel hurt. Thancred is… a good person, and Ikael is certain he is not thinking anything _truly_ malicious. Still, Ikael cannot help the small prick in his chest at being so strangely ignored this consistently. Mayhaps Thancred has… lost interest? Ikael knows they had… he…

He blinks automatically when he feels a touch near his eye, pushing his hair out of the way. When he glances back up, it is to meet Thancred's concerned expression.

“Are you alright?” he asks. The softness of brown in his eye that Ikael has always found so comforting is fixed on him.

Any and all bruised feelings Ikael may be feeling immediately dissipate. He smiles fondly, swiping the back of Thancred's hand with his thumb.

“I am now,” he says. Perhaps Thancred is simply having an off day, or is not feeling well. Poor dear; Ikael will make him soup later, if he wants. “But I would like to head home, yeah? I-if that—if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.” Thancred stands quickly, as if not wishing to spend a single moment remaining here if Ikael does not want to. Ikael feels his heart swell with affection; what a sweetheart. Ikael will take care to cuddle him extra long when they get back.

Thancred extends a hand for him to take, and Ikael wraps his fingers around his wrist before rising as well. When he stands it is mere ilms from Thancred's blinking face, and now that he is this close Ikael can _see_ the way his small hyuran pupils dilate ever-so-slightly, notes how the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Ikael strokes the inside of Thancred’s wrist with his fingertips, and he swallows. Ikael tilts his head up, presses a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

“We could make a stop… to the privy, I think,” he mutters. “If that’s… _okay_ with you.”

Thancred sucks in a breath. Ikael can tell he is caught off guard by the suggestion from the way his eye darts around the café, as if searching for more time to react. Ikael will give him all the time he needs. He eyes the jump in Thancred's throat, wondering if it is socially acceptable to suck on it in public.

“Do not,” Thancred says in a low voice, halting Ikael’s mouth with his fingers just as he is about to try and find out. Ikael’s eyes dart to the fingertips pressed to his lips, and then back up to Thancred, just in time to see the exact same thought that is going through Ikael’s brain flit through his.

Thancred's eye darkens further. He drops his hands, but encloses his fingers around Ikael’s wrist, much like Ikael had done.

“Privy is over there,” he says, nodding in its direction. Half to double-check Ikael’s willingness and half to show off his superbly amazing reconnaissance skills, Ikael is certain. “If you do not wish to wait until we get home, that is.”

Ikael rocks into him. “Oh, it’ll be too late by then,” he says slyly. “Unless you want to be… _waiting_ … the entire way back.”

“You seem quite certain you can hold my interest for that long.” There is a humorous sparkle in Thancred's eye. “Is that overconfidence I hear?”

Ikael’s mouth opens in an offended scoff. “We’ll see just how _overconfident_ I am,” he grumbles. He ignores Thancred's laugh as he drags them towards the privy.

Once inside, he wastes no time. He backs Thancred into a wall—not that difficult, admittedly, considering the size of the space—and hooks a finger in his choker to pull him down for a kiss. Thancred, for all his good-natured teasing, eagerly responds, sweeping his tongue in Ikael’s mouth and splaying a hand between his shoulder blades to pull him closer.

He runs a hand down Ikael’s chest, deftly unlatching the rest of his shirt. Ikael finds this a bit unexpected—there is only so much one can do in a small public privy, after all—but takes it in stride regardless, rolling his shoulders and flexing lightly when Thancred breaks the kiss to rake his gaze down his body.

Ikael shivers at the look in his eye. He does not know why he had thought Thancred hadn’t been looking at him earlier; he is intently fixed on him now, drinking him in like he is a man parched in the Sagolii. It catches Ikael off guard, and he tips his head in a semi-instinctual reaction, flattening his ears submissively and baring his throat.

Thancred lets out a soft growl and dips his head forward, brushing his lips against the base of Ikael’s neck. Ikael swallows at the feeling of a soft lick, and then the quick sharpness of a bite, stinging before immediately being soothed by wet lips and tongue.

Thancred pulls Ikael flush against him, then slips a hand between them, caressing Ikael’s abdomen before sliding lower, cupping between his legs.

Ikael makes a garbled noise. He ears a distinct flat jingle, and has only half a mind to wonder what in Rhalgr’s name it is before Thancred chuckles, low in his chest. Ikael feels heat curl in his gut.

He swallows, clutching at Thancred's arms to steady himself. “I-I-I—there is—I don’t think we can—” he manages, even as he widens his stance for Thancred's now slowly massaging fingers. “A-ah…”

Thancred's hand pauses, and Ikael has to stop himself from saying something truly embarrassing to make it move again. “Do you wish to stop?” Thancred mutters.

It is a genuine question with no accusation—thank the gods, although Ikael knows Thancred is not like that—but Ikael still has to take a moment to gather himself before he can speak.

“I-I… just—” He can feel his cheeks colour. “Um. I-I thought I’d be. You know—y-you. I-I… on _you_.”

He is staring at Thancred's shoulder, but can still see him raise an eyebrow out of his peripheral. “This place is not that unmaneuverable,” Thancred says. “I am sure I can manage.”

His fingers press against Ikael briefly, as if to clarify his point.

Ikael’s blush deepens. “I-I-I mean,” he stammers, “i-it, uh, is a bit har—a bit _difficult_ —” He thinks Thancred is smirking, damn him, “—to… um. With me. I-I don’t… I can't feel much, inside. A-and it is… small. Too much can be... It, um. Will take a while. Bit tedious.”

Thancred tilts his head, beginning to move his hand once more. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he observes at the small noise Ikael makes.

“Y-yes, but—but—u-um.” Thancred is _definitely_ smirking now. “Tha—that is—over my clothes, yeah? I-I can’t, um. I-i-if you want me to, from just that.”

“You can’t come?” Thancred leans forward, speaking directly into Ikael’s ear. His hand is still moving in a slow, rolling, stroking motion, cupping Ikael through his—admittedly thin—brais. “Well, no—I would not expect you to from so distant and rough a touch."

“O-oh.” Ikael blinks in surprise. “Re—really?”

Thancred draws back a fraction to study his expression, then frowns very lightly. “Yes, really,” he states. In a careful tone, he adds, “This is news to you.”

Ikael licks his lips. “Well—you— _you_ can come. Just from this, right?” he says. “Maybe after a while, in—in theory? So it does not make sense that I cannot.” He peers up at Thancred, whose frown has creased. “Right?”

 Thancred slowly shakes his head. Ikael balks at him a little. “… No?”

“No,” Thancred affirms, drawing the word out. “Who told you that?”

“A-Ah.” Ikael licks his lips once more. “I-it was just the impression I—the impression I got. From… people. A-and a few have said, you know.”

“Said what?”

“That I, um.” Ikael glances away, embarrassed. “That I’m, um. Not sensitive enough. So I can’t come sometimes.” That, and some men prefer to simply… not touch anything they are not familiar with.

He is startled when, after a small pause, Thancred barks out a laugh. Ikael blinks up at him rapidly, confused.

“I am going to _ruin_ your standards for men,” Thancred states with a sharp grin that makes Ikael’s stomach do a funny little flip. “To begin with: no, darling, you are plenty sensitive, if you know where to look. Overmuch, even.” He winks, and Ikael blushes. “They simply either do not know what they are doing or are too shite of a lay to try properly.”

He leans in close once more, breath hot against Ikael’s jaw. “Luckily for you,” he murmurs, “I am not going to simply stick my fingers in you and wiggle them around for a minute or so like a _teenager_. Now,” And his hand withdraws from between Ikael’s legs to tap three fingers against his lips, “Suck.”

Ikael’s eyes widen at the command, and he automatically takes the fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. He can feel himself flush deeply; at the sensation, yes, but mostly at the look on Thancred's face. There is something steady and assertive in his gaze that makes Ikael feel weak—in a good way. He… he does not know what is different with Thancred today, but Ikael had not expected him to… to be this… to take _charge_ as he is. Seeing this side of him, is… well.

He does not think he needs to wet Thancred's fingers _too_ much.

“Interesting,” Thancred murmurs, eye still fixed on Ikael’s face. Ikael tries not to moan, because that would be embarrassing. Instead, he focuses on his task—this, he knows how to do. And he is doing well, judging by Thancred's reactions.

“Good,” he commends quietly, and Ikael makes a small noise, feeling heat pool between his legs.

“I think that is enough.” Thancred's voice is low and soft as he withdraws his fingers. Then his other hand is stretching Ikael’s waistband, making room as the fingers Ikael has just wet slide past his smalls. Ikael’s tail smacks against the wall, and he winces at the resulting jingling noise. He… really needs to take that off.

“There is… a bit of a position for this,” Thancred mutters, adjusting his hand. Ikael cannot gather enough of his mind to do much more than stare; the heavy throb in his sex stays even as Thancred maneuvers to try and get a better angle.

“Are you still with me?” Thancred asks. Something rubs against the sensitive spot at Ikael’s front— _clit,_ he knows now thanks to one very unsexy conversation with Thancred—and he makes a startled noise, bucking into Thancred’s hand. He hears another jingle.

“I shall take that as a ‘yes,’” Thancred murmurs smugly. He begins to move his other fingers, and— _oh,_ this is all slick rubbing and constant pressure, nothing like the rough, uneven fumbling Ikael is used to. Thancred had used his hand on him once before, but Ikael had been close to orgasm then and he had just figured…

 _I’m doomed_ , he thinks hazily as he rolls into Thancred's palm. His tail jingles in agreement.

One of Thancred's fingers slips inside of him, lightly pressing as if searching around for a moment, and then withdraws when nothing happens, crooking to stroke at the outside of his sex once more. Then there is a sudden rubbing at Ikael’s clit; at first slow, but rapidly gaining pace.

“A-a- _ah_ ,” Ikael moans, hips bucking. He grabs at Thancred's arms. Thancred makes a low shushing noise (half at Ikael himself and half at his tail bell, he is certain), leaning forwards. He traps Ikael against the wall of the stall with his frame, pressing his mouth over his in an open-mouthed kiss.

Ikael moans again, desperate and long. Thancred's mouth muffles the sound—muffles Ikael’s mind, the way Thancred is firmly guiding the kiss not leaving any quarter for Ikael to gather his thoughts. It is—it is—overwhelming—his fingers are rubbing at Ikael so—so _quickly_ —without cease—he is _everywhere_ : in Ikael’s body and on him and around him and—

Ikael comes with an embarrassing whimper, stiffening and jerking against Thancred's hand. Thancred murmurs to him, keeps up his motions until Ikael stills, slows the pace of their kiss.

Then his hand pulls out of Ikael’s smalls. Thancred holds it up, eyeing the moisture beading on his fingers, and, with a small shrug, sucks them into his mouth.

When he is finished… cleaning, he withdraws his fingers with a soft pop. “Delicious, as with everything you make,” he says, winking, to an utterly stupefied Ikael.

Ikael tries to speak around a dry throat, but only manages a small croak. He clears his throat, flushing.

“See? That was easy,” Thancred says smugly.

Ikael’s mouth falls open. He hits Thancred—somewhat lightly—on the arm.

“Ow!”

“You call me easy one more time, Mister Grumpypants Rogue, and I will cut your cock off,” Ikael threatens.

Thancred scowls playfully at him. “Again with that… nickname,” he grumbles.

“I am serious,” Ikael continues, because he is not very good at threatening people, but he thinks he has to follow through if he wants to be taken seriously. “With… with your own knife. Your—your own knife!” he tries again, changing the pitch of his voice (because that sentence had fallen flat). “I will!”

“I don’t need my cock, as I have just proven,” Thancred preens.

Ikael opens and closes his mouth uselessly a few times, scrambling for a satisfactory comeback. He finds none, and so gives up and decides to squeeze Thancred's erection through his trousers instead.

“Don’t you?” he wheedles as Thancred draws in a sharp breath. “Don’t you want to fuck my mouth with it, hm? Don’t you want to spend down my throat?”

“Thal’s balls,” Thancred swears. “I forget, sometimes, how bleeding _crass_ you can be.”

Ikael has already sunken to his knees. It is a bit of an awkward fit, admittedly—the stall is not made for a miqo’te enthusiastically deepthroating his hyuran lover—but he manages.

“Let me—see,” Thancred says as Ikael undoes the ties to his trousers. Ikael blinks up at him, pausing, and lets himself be gently pushed back. Thancred looks him over, gaze lingering on chest, before he nods, releasing him.

Ikael hums and gently takes Thancred's hands. He puts them in his hair.

“Use,” he instructs, before he takes Thancred's member out, places the tip in his mouth, and steadies his hands against the wall.

Thancred swears again, quietly. He gives a small, slow thrust, as if testing how much he is allowed to do. His hands in Ikael’s hair simply rest there; stroking softly, but not grasping or pulling.

After about a minute of hesitant, tentative thrusts, Ikael pulls off Thancred's erection with a wet noise. “You are a darling and a gentleman,” he says. “But the former is irrelevant when it comes to this, and the latter,” he licks his lips and stares up at Thancred, watches him swallow as he tracks the movement, “I fear made you not listen to me when I said _fuck my mouth_.”

He blinks slowly. “If you so wish,” he adds serenely, and dips his head to take Thancred in his mouth once more.

Thancred mutters something Ikael cannot hear. Then he thrusts again, more deeply this time, although still slowly. Ikael hums in praise, and smiles internally as Thancred starts to build a steadily increasing rhythm.

“You—gods,” Thancred mumbles. Ikael moans helpfully around his cock, and he groans quietly. “You look… wearing my…”

Ikael takes one hand away from the wall to wrap it over Thancred's in his hair and _tug_ —he hears a distinct jingle at the motion—then puts it back. Thancred breathes out sharply through his nose, but seems to get the message, tightening his grip in Ikael’s hair and beginning to _finally_ use Ikael the way he has been waiting for.

Ikael moans to encourage him, and Thancred's grip in his hair tightens, his thrusts speeding up. Ikael moans again, genuine this time. _This_ is what he had wanted. He is only happy that Thancred seems to have absolutely no problem in obliging.

He keeps himself as safely still as he can so he does not choke. Thancred is… he is quite a spectacle to look at, in Ikael’s opinion. He finds himself watching how his head tips back, how his lips part, how his eye flutters shut…

 _You are so beautiful_ , he thinks as Thancred sputters out a warning (after not too long at all, ha). Ikael hums in affirmation, pressing his tongue up firmly to tighten the sensation.

He loosens his throat as Thancred spills, waiting until the spurts stop before carefully drawing back and swallowing. He gently sucks at the head of Thancred's cock to clean him up, earning him a shudder, and leaves it with a kiss, gently tucking it back into Thancred’s trousers.

He rises, bell jingling quietly as his tail waves. Thancred looks at him, eye bright, mouth slightly open, chest moving in light pants. Ikael gives him a moment to collect himself and look pretty.

“You came quicker than I did,” he says after exactly seven seconds is up.

Thancred's expression shifts, changes into one of miffed pride. “I most certainly did _not_ ,” he says.

“ _Mhmm_.” Ikael puffs up his chest, reveling in _his_ turn to preen. He is certain that Thancred took less time, even if only because he is giving himself the benefit of the doubt. “See? I told you; I take longer than you do.”

Thancred raises an eyebrow, stepping forwards. Is he trying to corner Ikael against the wall? That is silly—he is only _three_ ilms (exactly) taller than Ikael, and that is two ilms too short for effective wall-cornering tactics to be… effective.

Thancred says, “I am quite aware of how much time passed on your turn, and it was _surprisingly_ little. As for _my_ turn, I believe you simply think it happened faster because you seemed to, well.” He crosses his arms. “ _Enjoy_ it so.”

Ikael feels himself flush, but he scoffs, determined to not be shamed. Definitely not by _Thancred_ , who is just as wanton as Ikael, if not more.

“I _love_ sucking cock,” Ikael begins to declare, loudly and grandly. He is interrupted by a furious pounding on the door.

“You two done fuckin’?” someone yells, making them both jump (and jingle). “Then git the fuck out, ye shite-eating pig-fuckers!”

There is a sharp, angry kick to the door, then the sound of someone stomping off, grumbling under their breath.

Thancred is eyeing the bell on Ikael’s tail. “You really need to take that thing off,” he says, “Before I begin to develop a _truly_ embarrassing psychological reaction.”

Ikael is still gaping at the door. His tail curls to acknowledge Thancred, jingling quietly and apologetically.

~*~

Thancred, once more, is not looking at Ikael. This time, however, Ikael does not mind. He thinks he knows _exactly_ why that is happening—or not happening, rather—and it is nothing short of amusing.

It is a new idea to him, he will admit. He has never been… in a _serious_ relationship before (he is determinedly not counting Kava). Granted, this is not all too serious, but it _is_ Thancred, and Thancred is actually Ikael’s… friend. He has all sorts of soft and squishy feelings for Ikael, and that part is very new indeed.

The soft and squishy feelings may not necessarily be _romantic_ in nature, Ikael considers as he watches Thancred carefully wipe his finger on the cusp of a papery muffin cup. Ikael is somewhat relieved at that, to be honest. He has had… ill experience with such relations in the past, and this way he knows Thancred will not stop caring about him even if they do decide to stop having what Ikael will certainly not admit is some of the best sex he has had in his entire life. It is nice.

“Here,” Ikael says. He steps forward, lifts Thancred's hand, and closes his mouth around his finger.

Yes, he considers as Thancred's eyes widen (he had taken his bandana off after bumping into Ikael accidentally and nearly spilling boiling water on himself). Ikael is definitely on to _something_. He knows enough of Thancred's reactions now to note the added intensity in his gaze when he is aroused, how his focus seems to… sharpen. Granted, it might be because Ikael is sucking on his forefinger like it is a lollipop, but it _also_ might be because Ikael is wearing only Thancred's open tunic on his chest.

Thancred grunts quietly, and carefully withdraws his finger. “The sink is right there,” he mutters, but his eyes are knowing.

For a fleeting moment, Ikael considers whether or not this is a game he wants to play. Then he thinks, _pfffft_ , and decides that yes, it is, and it will be fun to boot.

He winks. “I’m better at… cleaning things,” he says. He gives what he hopes is a coy smile.

Thancred only stares at him for a long, long moment. Ikael is just beginning to doubt his own powers of seduction when Thancred mutters, “You are lucky you never need to talk your way into anything.”

He goes to wash his hands in the sink. Ikael flounders for a second before puffing out his cheeks and moving to place the muffins in the oven. He sets it to turn off after the timer expires. Hopefully, they will be… too occupied too tend to it, and Ikael does not want to set the oven on fire again.

He moves behind Thancred, wrapping his arms around his waist. Thancred hums at him in response, patting his hands.

“What do you think about when you look at me in this, hm?” Ikael mutters. He feels Thancred's breathing stop, then carefully resume. Rejoicing internally, Ikael continues: “Do you think about fucking me in it? Because I—”

He is interrupted by Thancred suddenly spinning around, pulling him in close. Ikael embraces him automatically, inhaling into the junction of his neck.

“Truly? I do not know why,” Thancred admits, “but yes. It is, _yes_ , perhaps just a _little_ bit arousing to see you wear an article of my clothing by itself, looking for all the world as if you just waltzed out of my bedroom in it because you had nothing else to wear, and are announcing it for everyone to see. _Maybe_.”

Ikael swallows, fingers flexing against Thancred's back. “I-I… well…” When he puts it like _that_... “It is not _obvious_ it is your clothing,” he tries.

Thancred draws back to look at him incredulously. “You would _never_ wear this,” he says. “Monotone? Big collar? Actual sense of fashion? Please.”

“I am not the one without a fashion sense.” Ikael is offended.

Thancred scoffs. “Of course. Not to mention, it does not even fit you properly. And you rarely wear loosely-fitted clothing unless it is ridiculously huge and you are trying to repurpose it into something it is not supposed to be.”

“Is this about my indigo blank—shawl? Because they _only_ had the roegadyn size, I _told_ —”

“As much as I do love hearing you prove my point,” Thancred interrupts, a small smile tugging at his lips, “I believe you were in the middle of trying and failing to seduce me.”

Ikael pouts. “I’m good at seducing people,” he whines.

“Hm,” says Thancred. Ikael does not get the chance to wonder what _that_ is supposed to mean, because then Thancred is kissing him.

“My dear,” he murmurs against Ikael’s lips when they part, “you do not have put on any performance if you want me to lay with you. All you have to do is ask.”

For some reason, his words strike Ikael deeply, and he finds himself unable to speak. Thancred smiles at him with a quietly-named emotion that Ikael will not say, and kisses him again, slow. Ikael kisses back with a flutter in his heart, eyes falling shut.

“Now,” Thancred says in a low, amused voice, “I have a theory that I would like to test out, if you do not mind.”

“Oh?” Ikael blinks up at him hazily. “Is it… the clothing thing?”

“No,” Thancred says. “It is the ‘for someone so smug about getting the upper hand on me, you are far from unaffected when the tables are turned’ thing.”

Ikael swallows around a suddenly dry throat. “I-I… do not know what y—what you’re talk—ah, talking about,” he stutters.

“Really?” Thancred drones. He tips Ikael’s chin up with one finger. “So you do _not_ like it when I take control.”

He begins to kiss along Ikael’s neck. Ikael licks his lips once, then twice.

“Well,” Ikael says, “Maybe I—I do, a little… know what you’re… um.”

Thancred is sucking at the bite mark he had caused earlier. Ikael makes what is perhaps an embarrassing noise. His nails unwittingly dig into Thancred's back, and Thancred sucks in a short breath.

“How about we take this to m—”

Ikael is already tottering off to Thancred's bedroom in a semi-daze. He hears a low laugh, then feels Thancred at his back, following close behind.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Thancred is on Ikael, kissing at the junction of his throat and sliding his hands over the skin of his abdomen and chest. Ikael lets out an unbidden noise when he feels a thumb teasingly brush over his nipple, and Thancred chuckles, doing it again.

“Just how would you like this to go, hm?” he murmurs, slipping a hand between Ikael’s legs. “Do you want me to be rough? Take you hard?”

Ikael makes an intelligible noise, ears dipping. _Yes_ , he would like that very much. He notices that Thancred has paused, waiting for a response, and nods eagerly. His head bangs against the wall.

Thancred tuts at him, pulling his head forward to check where he has hit it. Ikael takes the opportunity to tug Thancred’s jacket off, then gleefully slide his hands up underneath his tunic.

“Ikael…” Thancred mumbles. Ikael begins to suck on the spot at the base of his neck that he knows is particularly sensitive. “Alright, alright. Forgive me for being worried you will concuss yourself when all you want is to be fucked in the arse.”

Ikael hums agreeably, sucking harder. Thancred mutters something under a breath that gratifyingly stutters, and then Ikael is being gently walked backwards towards the bed.

He pulls Thancred on top of him after impatiently waiting for him to take his shoes off. Only pausing to shuck his brais and smalls, he hooks his legs around Thancred’s waist. Thancred gently eases them off, flattening them to either side as he takes his time kissing, then fondling down Ikael’s chest. He notedly does not take Ikael’s borrowed vest off; only pushes it more open.

Ikael whines impatiently. “Than _cred_. Want you to fuck me.”

“Evidently,” Thancred mutters. Ikael tugs him down for a kiss, which quickly turns heated when Ikael moans, sucking on his tongue. Thancred groans, and that sounds— _so_ nice, so pretty.

Ikael wants him to make more pretty noises. He yanks his trousers and smalls down to his knees, smears a hand between his own legs, and wraps it around Thancred's cock. Thancred, apparently not expecting so much to happen so quickly, lets out a choked noise. Ikael croons at him, moving his hand at a fairly enthusiastic pace, making sure to twist on the upstroke _just_ the way Thancred likes.

“Alright, one—let me—” Thancred gently pulls off of him, touching his wrist to make him stop—Ikael makes a soft noise, but immediately obliges—and sits back on his haunches to tug his tunic over his head. Ikael watches greedily, tracking the flex of his abdomen, the twitch in his bicep as he tosses it over the side of the bed.

Thancred catches him staring, flashes him a grin, and holds himself over Ikael’s body with one arm while he pulls the remainder of his clothing off with the other. Ikael is still drinking in the sight, watching as his muscles tense and contract.

“Enjoying the show?” Thancred murmurs, lowering himself back down. Ikael giggles an affirmative. Thancred's grin softens at the edges, and he gives Ikael’s jaw a soft kiss.

This is all very cute, but Ikael is still not being pounded into the mattress. He lets out an airy moan, baring his throat, and puffs out his chest. “Thancred…” he says breathily.

Thancred's eyes dart down to his shirt—back up, to Ikael’s face. A muscle works in his jaw. He makes a noise, low in his throat, then moves back and reaches for the nightstand. He is tipping lubricant onto his fingers but a second later.

Ikael takes the opportunity to pose, stretch, flutter his eyelashes, and all-around act embarrassingly wanton. It seems to work, thank Hydaelyn; Thancred's gaze fixes onto him, occasionally darting downwards to his chest.

When he speaks, his voice is thrillingly lower than it had been five minutes ago. “Do you want me to take you from behind,” he asks, “or like this?”

Ikael considers. Thinks of the way Thancred has been looking at him.

“Like this,” he says. “So you can see.”

Thancred groans quietly. He presses a fingertip to Ikael’s entrance, glancing up questioningly. Ikael nods, and it probes inside.

Thancred does not seem to want to take his time; as soon as Ikael begins to arch his hips upwards, his finger presses against the spot inside of Ikael that makes heated pleasure seep through him and coaxes a moan from his chest. Thancred slips in another finger and moves them quickly—a curving, come-hither motion that makes Ikael toss and turn in the bedsheets.

“More,” he croaks. Thancred tilts his head. And then, for some unfathomable reason, he slows down.

“Hm,” he says. His fingers slow further, into gradual, prolonged strokes. The pleasure that was spiking gets stretched, drawn out. Every time he feels a brush past his sensitive spot, Ikael cannot help but shudder.

“Th—Thancred,” he mumbles, and nothing else, because he can feel himself getting lost. The heaviness between his legs seems to pulse with every stroke, every drag.

Thancred leans forwards and seals his mouth around Ikael’s nipple. His eyelashes flutter against Ikael’s chest and Ikael whimpers, arching up when he feels the swirl of a tongue.

Ikael is supposed to be saying something—something challenging and spry and arousing—but when he opens his mouth it is only to moan. Thancred hums quietly, changes to motion of his tongue to flick rapidly—which is, _oh_ —and then suck.

Ikael is dimly aware of another finger entering him, but he is so dizzy with arousal he barely registers that that is a step in a furthering direction. The heat of Thancred's mouth leaves, and he blows gently. Ikael makes an airy, desperate noise.

“If I touch you,” Thancred murmurs, which does not make any sense because he is _already_ touching Ikael—he is _everywhere_ inside and outside of him—“Do you think you can come for me?”

Ikael makes a garbled noise in reply, pushing his chest up. Why has Thancred's mouth stopped?

 _He needs that to speak_ , the last reasonable part of Ikael’s mind thinks faintly.

“You are doing _so_ well for me, Ikael,” Thancred says, and, _oh_ , his voice has dropped into something low and heady and, shite, if he wants Ikael to come, all he has to do is keep talking. Ikael has changed his mind about his mouth.

Something touches Ikael’s sex. It feels like a hand, but that does not make any sense, because Thancred's hand is already _inside_ Ikael, still stroking him maddeningly slowly.

The not-hand presses more firmly against him, and now it is _moving_ , much like—much like Thancred had done earlier, with his—with his—real hand, oh—

“That’s it. Good job,” Thancred murmurs. Ikael makes a pitchy noise. “I know, I know. Can you come for me, love? That would make me,” The not-hand starts to rub mercilessly against his clit at the same time as the real hand inside of Ikael suddenly matches its rhythm against his sweet spot, “ _So_ happy, darling. You are doing so beautifully.”

 _Thancred has two hands_ , Ikael realises distantly as he comes.

Hindsight, half a minute later, is crystal clear. Ikael does not know why in the name of Rhalgr’s right testicle he forgot about the existence of Thancred's entire left hand, but he does not put it beyond himself.

Thancred's grin, when it comes into focus, is sharp and bright. Ikael giggles headily at him, still not quite down enough from his blissful haze to notice the smugness in it.

Something is slowly pressing inside of him while gentle fingers stroke his inner thigh, and Ikael makes a vague and incoherent noise. Then he remembers that _this_ is not right, because he is supposed to prove something to Thancred since they are having some sort of strange, egoistic pissing context. He blinks at the ceiling, gathering enough of himself to have some sense by the time Thancred is fully inside of him.

“So,” Thancred murmurs, and yes, that is definitely smugness. Ikael huffs out a giggle. He locks his ankles around Thancred's waist, braces himself on the bed, and flips them. The resulting accidental thrust and the wince of pain it invokes is worth the look on Thancred's face when he finds himself suddenly on his back, gaping up at a self-satisfied Ikael.

Then he takes in their new position. His eyes darken, and Ikael swears he can feel his cock twitch inside of him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then,” Thancred says lowly. Ikael feels a grin creep across his face; Thancred has _no_ idea.

He begins by slowly rocking, grinding—mostly intended, but also to check if he has injured himself from his little stunt. He has not, he thinks, thank the Twelve. _That_ wouldn’t be very sexy at all.

He waits, watching Thancred's face. Finally, he catches the moment when he draws the erroneous conclusion that this is all Ikael is going to do—pleasurable for him, certainly, but perhaps not doing as much for Thancred.

Thancred’s eyes… Thancred's eyes soften, and he looks at Ikael with a gentle, admiring gaze, as if he is, contrary to everything Ikael has expected, taking this in stride. As if he is simply using the opportunity to… look. To gaze lovingly at Ikael like he is… like…

Well. It is—more or less—what Ikael has been waiting for. Ignores the flush he can feel creeping up his neck, he squeezes tightly, holding it. He watches as Thancred gasps, as his hands flex in the bedsheets. Ikael patiently waits for him to recover, and then, still squeezing, begins to move.

He has to brace his knees on the bed to get a good rhythm going. This has the added result of making his thighs flex constantly, which, judging from how Thancred stares, is a good look on him. Ikael grins, widening his legs and moving as fast as he can reasonably move. It is a bit… tiring, Ikael will admit—especially keeping himself tight—but he has practiced.

“Gods,” Thancred murmurs. His voice is touched with something like amazement. “Twelve, Ikael; you…”

At first Ikael is flattered. But then Thancred's words, the look on his face, is—starts— _getting_ to him, worming into his heart and making it beat hotly against his ribs. This is—this is—not what Ikael had… what he had bargained for. He…

He can fix this. He is a _master_ of seduction.

“ _Ohh_ , _Thancred_ ,” he moans loudly, squeezing extra tightly around his cock as he fucks himself on it like a spriggan bouncing away with a rock it has just stolen. “You’re so— _big_ and _thick_ I’m going to come from _just_ that— _yes_ , that keeps hitting my—” What is the one that is inside of him, again? “— _clit_ , _ohh_ gods.”

Thancred makes a strange face at him. “Are you… alright?” he says, shooting a quick glance to Ikael’s head.

Ikael tosses his hair in a dramatic motion. “I’m going to _co-o-ome,_ ” he moans enthusiastically.

“I really don’t—a-ah—think you are,” Thancred replies. “Here, why don’t you—let me take the reins for a bit, hm?”

What? Oh, that is good, right? “ _Yes,”_ Ikael moans exuberantly.

Thancred shoots him another strange look before reaching up. His hands grasp Ikael’s hips—and then he flips them, in one sudden and familiar movement. _Not fair_ , Ikael thinks up at the ceiling he is now staring at. That is _Ikael’s_ move.

“Good boy,” Thancred purrs, pressing a kiss to Ikael’s chest. Ikael’s train of thought immediately fizzles out as he makes a garbled noise.

“Now; allow me,” Thancred says, and then he draws out nearly all the way before _slamming_ home.

Ikael lets out a noise that is halfway between a moan and an ugly mess. He drops his hands down on either side of his head, pressing his face into the pillow as Thancred drives into him at a _truly_ gratifying pace.

Ikael makes a needy sound, beckoning. Thancred dutifully leans down, and Ikael spreads his fingers over his back. He keeps his hands like that, splayed, feeling every twitch of every muscle underneath his fingertips.

This is a good idea, Ikael thinks hazily to himself. He should let Thancred… do this. More often.

Thancred pauses. Ikael opens his mouth to say something he will probably regret later, but Thancred kisses him, and the words are lost.

Ikael feels his legs being bent upwards, and then laid gently on what he identifies—from the boniness and the tickling brush of hair—as Thancred’s shoulders.

“’m so flexible,” Ikael mumbles nonsensically. He hears a short, breathless laugh, and then Thancred nods in agreement against his forehead.

“You are _very_ flexible, and talented, and gorgeous,” he says in a ragged voice.

“ _You’re_ gorgeous,” Ikael replies automatically, his mind picking up on fractions of Thancred's words and echoing them back at him. His left hand finds Thancred's ponytail, and he holds it loosely.

Thancred gives him a strange, soft look. Then he grabs Ikael’s legs—ooh—and begins to move again. And _that_ is—Ikael thinks Thancred must still retain at least some of his grasp on aether, because the way this new angle affects Ikael certainly _feels_ like magic.

Someone is making a loud and ridiculous noise not dissimilar to a dying cat, and Ikael only realizes it is himself when he hears Thancred's soft moans. _Thancred_ certainly does not seem to mind Ikael making stupid noises; if anything, it seems to spur him on. One of his hands move from Ikael's thighs—Ikael mourns the loss—before sparks explode in Ikael’s vision. He hears his noises turn hoarse and desperate. He arches, greedily seeking this sudden new touch, but not wanting to lean away from the relentless one inside of him. Thancred seems to— _meld_ to him—Ikael is only aware how close he has been to orgasm when he comes, suddenly and harshly. He hears Thancred make a strangled noise before his thrusts speed up to a near-punishing pace—and then he stills. Ikael’s mind is too far away to pay any attention to him.

 When he comes to, it is because somebody is rudely shoving themselves into his personal space. Ikael makes a soft noise and wraps himself around them.

“I did not get a chance,” Thancred mumbles into his shoulder, “To test out your… inclination towards submission. Mine apologies.”

“I don’t know _what_ you are apologizing for,” Ikael mumbles back. “It had better not be what we just did, because then I will be mildly upset and have to hug you a lot to make you feel better.”

He hears a low, tired laugh. “Is that so?” Thancred says. “Very well then; I am not sorry at all. Besides… some things need to be discussed beforehand, so it is probably for the best.”

He presses a soft kiss to Ikael’s skin. Ikael threads his hands through his hair, and they lay like that for a long, relaxed moment.

Then Thancred suddenly bolts upright. “Shite—the muffins—!” he yelps.

“Oh no,” Ikael mutters in a lazily alarmed tone. His muffins are fine—the oven must have turned off ages ago. “You had better check nothing exploded.”

Thancred rolls off the bed and begins to tug his smalls on. Ikael sits up.

“Thancred! There is no time for that!” he barks, suddenly urgent. Thancred turns wide eyes to him. “My oven! You have to check on it!”

Thancred's motions turn frantic. He jerks his smalls up his hips and then runs out of the room.

Ikael waits until he hears bare feet wildly slapping against the floorboards, then rolls onto his back and begins to laugh. _Take that for being so good in bed_ , he thinks. Ah… it looks like Ikael has won the day after all.

~*~


End file.
